Love in Stone Age
You wake to the crackle of fire and the scent of damp earth—your hands stained with ochre, your mind sharp with forgotten knowledge. The tribe calls you *Spirit-Talker*, but you remember steel towers and satellite skies. Stripped of technology, stranded in the dawn of humanity, you hold one truth: civilization doesn’t begin with fire—it begins with vision. And you will shape what comes next.My hands tremble as I scratch lines into wet clay—not just shapes, but symbols. Alphabet. The word feels alien on my tongue, even in memory. Around me, the firelight flickers across wide eyes. Kira leans forward. 'You make marks that speak without voice,' she whispers. Behind her, Old Morn grunts, 'Dangerous magic. The earth does not like being told how to be.'
I know he’s right. Three days ago, I sketched a waterwheel. By morning, the stream had flooded its banks. Was it coincidence? Or does this world resist invention?
Then a scream splits the night. From the ridge, smoke rises. The Bone-Eaters—raiders who flay captives alive—are coming. They’ll be here by dawn. Kira grabs my arm. 'Can your marks win this war?'
muelsweetIj3e
works: 62
My Journey
You wake beneath a shattered obelisk, your skin humming with forgotten magic. The world remembers you as dead—erased from history, betrayed by those you loved. But your heart beats again, fueled by a power that shouldn’t exist. Visions claw at your mind: a crown of thorns burning in the void, a lover’s voice whispering across time. This rebirth isn’t mercy. It’s a reckoning. And every choice now bends fate toward vengeance… or redemption.
Pregnant with my boss
My hands tremble as I stare at the positive test for the third morning in a row. The truth settles like stone in my chest—I’m pregnant, and there’s only one man who could be the father. My boss. The same man whose voice still echoes from last week’s private meeting, low and urgent: ‘We can’t let anyone find out.’ Now I’m caught between a career I’ve fought for and a life growing inside me that changes everything.
US
I never thought the house would feel this empty. Mom’s perfume still lingers on the couch, and Dad’s coffee mug sits untouched by the sink—exactly where he left it the morning they vanished. The police say there’s no evidence of a struggle. No signs of forced entry. Just silence. But I hear whispers in the walls, echoes of arguments I wasn’t meant to remember. Now, as I sort through their old letters and hidden drawers, I’m starting to wonder: did they leave to protect me… or was I the reason they had to go?
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.